


Nobody's Home

by spikesgirl58



Series: octoberwriting [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-09
Updated: 2013-10-09
Packaged: 2017-12-28 22:10:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/997510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spikesgirl58/pseuds/spikesgirl58
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post apocalyptic, they find a survivor, but it's not who you think.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nobody's Home

It was over, just like that. I, personally, never thought it would happen. How could it? I had theatre ticket for that Thursday night. Still have the tickets, as a matter of fact. Now all I was missing was the theatre... theatre, street, the whole damned city for that matter. It was them again - the enemy. The whole thing reeked of their thirst for violence, their lust for blood that turned brother against brother, state against state.

Not that the violence was something new to either of our cultures. No, we'd long been exposed to their prejudice, their fears. We terrified them for some unknown reason. They had all the power, both political and social. It certainly couldn't have been our physical prowess, although most of us were strong for our size. Actually, we found our greatest strength in our superior intelligence. Perhaps that's why they hated us so. That and the fact that we had existed on this planet as long as them and we'd never had a major war. Never really had any need for one, but that didn't matter to them. What sort of political and social creature did that make us?

So, they turned to prejudice and segregation, keeping their children away from ours - the whole nine yards. It was the black racial thing all over again, but we had no Martin Luther King to open the door - not that we needed one. We all had the potential for talking peace and  
Brotherly love and that knowledge gave us patience. Eventually, we were able to grasp the first threads of freedom that allowed my great grandfather to crawl up from the slums of New York and declare himself free.

Free, but not equal, we were not permitted that luxury. Even with our intelligence, gentle nature and love for life, we found ourselves on the other end of a war we didn't want and, worse, knew we couldn't win.

Ah, the memories I have of that war, of the personal losses - my brothers, father, and close friends. Eventually, as time and the war progressed, it claimed just about everyone I held dear and that was when I started to learn how to hate. Quite a trade, I have to admit. We gave them literature, music, art and they gave us war, hate, and killing.

And now this. I might have known they'd turn to nuclear weapons. It was by the skin of their teeth that they managed to avoid nuclear holocaust with Russia and it was just like them to try something as futile as a nuclear device against us. It was also something we'd been expecting for a long time, especially after our last attempts at the conference table had been broken off. We began to keep close to the numerous hidden shelters we had built all over the cities and countryside. We started to sleep and eat in them and never went out without knowing where one was and the fastest route to it.

I was lucky, but I always have been - a possible explanation of why I'm here and some many of my friends and family aren't. I had been watching a particularly bad sit com. At least, it wasn't something good. I mean, could you imagine what hell it would be to be watching a who-dun-it and never know who had?

If it was any consolation to us, at least we knew who did this. That was no mystery at all, but they were so careful to keep us for knowing that they didn't bother to warn their own people. As the time crawled by and the pocket radio we had in our shelter crackled to its death, it became apparent that we were the only ones left. We tried to contact their shelters, but the frequencies remained bands of static.

Other than contact with our other sanctuaries, the radio remain silent. When the scouting parties at last ventured out from the safety of the shelter, all were afraid of what they'd find. Expecting destruction and desolation, the scouts reported worse. Ruins, everything was gone, all the sculptures, paintings by our great masters, all our art, literature, the very essence of our culture lay strewn about, like some giant jigsaw puzzle.

Still, there was no use brooding about what was done and over with. We began to reorganize, reassemble and to start again.

I was studying some plans for several emergency housing projects when Reb Ketor came scurrying in - all legs, as usual. So agitated was his condition that it took a drink and several minutes before he could explain himself… then, I needed a drink. Seems that his scouting party had found someone… alive, as incredible as that sounds, trapped beneath the ruins of a Tallot Stone. He was hurt and begging for help. Of course, the party had received no orders regarding survivors. Actually, the thought hadn't occurred to anyone, even to me.

I sighed and rose lamely to my feet. If it hadn't have been for Reb Ketor's bouncing up and down impatiently, I might have dismissed the whole problem. His presence, however, made that impossible. Sighing again, I gestured him onward and followed.

Hurrying to the site of the discovery, I was shocked. It had been my first actual trip outside the shelter and I was astonished, aghast at the destruction. I hadn't imagined this in my worst nightmares - had always clutched to the dream that something would be left. Even the familiar landmarks were gone - all destroyed by the enemy...the enemy. What is this victim was one of them. What then? How would the scouting party react? Most of them had lost someone in the Great War. They would, no doubt, draw on their superior intelligence and react with their emotions.

I was so preoccupied with my thoughts that I ran smack into the remains of a wall. Fortunately, Reb Ketor was too concerned with his own footing to see my lapse. Also, I thought bitterly, I was glad for our notoriously hard heads-a fact the enemy loved to bring up.

Reaching the site, we were greeted by, “Hello? Are you still there? Is anyone there? If you are, please say something!"

To my great relief, he was using NewSpeak, a language that both sides had initially been devised to help us communicate our differences, to help us reach a mutual ground. Instead, they turned it into a fad, a 'thing' to be done. Soon, everyone was using NewSpeak - everyone, except our ambassadors. They didn't seem to have much to say to each other anymore. Now, it all seemed so far away, listening to this voice plead with us, not knowing whether it was one of us or them. I moved closer to the hole from which the voice was issuing. Trying to pierce the dark and see the owner, I squinted.

"Hello," I answered softly, slightly surprised at the sob that greeted me.

"Oh, thank God you're still there. Help me! My legs were pinned by the explosion." Reb Ketor had gone for a lantern and, until he returned, I wanted to keep the voice talking.

"It's all right now. Just be patient a bit longer and we'll get you out and to a doctor. What's your name, Reb?" 

"Reb? Samsor. Please, hurry."

Reb Ketor returned with the light then and, as it pierced the shadows of the hole, my fears were confirmed-it was one of them. The killer of our children and mates. I saw in the faces of my companions what my own must have betrayed.

Simultaneously, we turned our backs with a sharp click and started away.

The voice pleaded with us, to forgive him, help him, screaming for us to come back.

And we would come back… in a week, possibly two. When the enemy was dead and the voice was silent. Then, our fight would be complete, they would truly be gone forever. 

But, then, after all, what else could we do? There was nobody here but us cockroaches.....


End file.
